Judge Shinn adjourned court until Wednesday morning.
“I don’t know what there is about this thing that interests me,” Johnny said that night in the Judge’s study, “unless it’s the puzzle in it. Like one of those jigsaws. You have to keep looking for the missing pieces.”
“You’ll find ’em all,” predicted Ferriss Adams comfortably. “And when you do, you’ll have the picture on the cover — our Polish friend.”
Andy Webster sucked on his cigar and glared at Adams. “I hear enough of you during the day, Adams,” he said querulously. “Shut up and let the boy speak.”
Adams grinned.
“Both of you shut up,” snapped Judge Shinn. “How do we stand as of close of business tonight, Johnny?”
“Well, statistically speaking, we’re moving along,” said Johnny. “Nine people testified today. But they add up to a lot more.
“At the opening of court this morning we had twenty-eight people in Shinn Corners to account for.
“At two-thirteen Saturday Peter Berry, Prue Plummer, Hube Hemus, Hosey Lemmon, and Calvin Waters were all in Berry’s store. That’s five eliminated. Five from twenty-eight leaves twenty-three.
“Rebecca Hemus: She, her daughter, and the troglodyte twins were all in the Hemus house at two-thirteen. I’ve questioned Tommy and Dave separately this evening, even took a whack at Abbie, who made eyes at me. They alibi one another. Four more out. Four from twenty-three leaves nineteen.
“Nineteen to go, and we have the Sheares in the parsonage study. They alibi each other. Leaving seventeen.
“Orville Pangman’s testimony: He, his son Eddie, and young Joel Hackett were fixing the Pangmans’ barn roof at the crucial moment. Eddie and Joel agree — I’ve talked to them, too. Three more out, leaving fourteen.
“Millie Pangman: She and little Debbie were in this house preparing to burn a meat pie—”
“Hold it,” said Usher Peague. “Unconfirmed.”
“Confirmed,” said Johnny.
“Now see here! I’ll buy most anything in this fairy tale, but I draw the line at time corroboration by a six-year-old, who wouldn’t know two-thirteen P.M. Saturday the fifth from the date the first flying saucer was sighted.”
Johnny smiled. “I was lucky. Elizabeth Sheare tells me she was working on her school board report at the one study window in the parsonage that overlooks Four Corners Road. From that window, she says, she had a clear view of the west corner of the intersection and of this house. She says she saw Millie and Deborah arrive, and she saw them leave, at about the times Mrs. Pangman testified to. And she says she’s sure that if Millie Pangman had left the house at any time during that period, she’d have noticed. So Millie gets her alibi sans benefit of little Missie Deborah. Two from fourteen leaves twelve.
“Mathilda Scott: She, her husband Earl, her father-in-law Seth Scott, Judy — all in the same room in the Scott house at two-thirteen Saturday. Confirmation through Judy, a very intelligent young lady. Four from twelve leaves eight.”
Judge Shinn was drumming on his desk. The sound made him stop and reach for his brandy.
“Go on,” he growled.
“Drakeley Scott: Left at one-thirty to see a hardhearted Yankee banker about a farm loan. I have called said hardhearted banker and, regardless of the degree of his cardiac petrifaction, he’s done young Drakeley a good turn. Mr. Henry Worthington states that a two-thirteen P.M. Saturday Drakeley Scott was seated opposite him in the Worthington library being told that his father owed the Comfort bank enough money already, and to go peddle his dairy prospects elsewhere.
“Leaving seven.
“And still we’re not finished. I left out Merritt Pangman. His mother’s testimony about the airmail letter arriving from Japan yesterday morning pretty well covers Seaman Pangman, notwithstanding the clever theories to the contrary that could be worked up by old mystery story hands.
“Leaving, as of this moment, six.”
There was silence for some time.
“Well,” said Ferriss Adams at last, “tomorrow morning ought to see this nonsense cleaned up.”
Nobody replied.
Wednesday began with a bang. They heard the shot at the breakfast table and it brought them up like one man in a rush for the door.
A dusty convertible was hauled up at the intersection. The Hemus twins flanked it; smoke still drifted from Tommy Hemus’s gun. A pale elegant man in a pale elegant suit of gabardine and a pearl gray Homburg sat behind the wheel, sputtering.
As they ran into the road, Burney Hackett came streaking from his house on the south corner. They joined forces at the car.
“What’s ailing these thugs?” cried the stranger. His voice was fussily cultivated, falsetto with outrage. “These armed hoodlums jumped in front of my car and had the effrontery to order me to go back where I came from! When I refused, they fired a shot in the air and informed me in the most callous way imaginable that the next shot would be right at me!”
“You want to learn not to argue with a gun, mister,” said Tommy Hemus, “you’ll live longer. We wouldn’t ’a’ shot him, Judge.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” said Judge Shinn.
“Maybe put a hole through his beautiful hat,” said Dave Hemus. “I bet that lid cost more’n ten bucks.”
“Nearer thirty-five,” murmured Usher Peague.
“I told you boys not to mess with people passin’ through!” scolded Burney Hackett. “Now, didn’t I?”
“Sure you did, Burney,” drawled Tommy Hemus. “But this character ain’t passin’ through. He’s bound for Aunt Fanny’s house.”
“What is this?” shrieked the elegant man. “Isn’t this a public thoroughfare? I wasn’t speeding, was I, breaking any of your piddling hick laws? Will someone please explain!”
“Calm down, sir,” said the Judge. “May I ask who you are and why you want to visit Fanny Adams?”
“Ask anything you ruddy well please, I don’t have to answer you. Damned if I will!”
“Of course, you don’t have to answer, sir. But it would simplify matters if you did.”
“The name will mean nothing to you, I’m sure,” the man said shortly. “I’m Roger Casavant—”
“The art critic?” said Johnny.
“Well! There’s a fellow with at least a primeval culture—”
“Holy smoke,” said Ferriss Adams. “I’m responsible for this, Judge. Mr. Casavant phoned last night. I meant to tell you about it this morning. He asked for Aunt Fanny. Naturally—”
“Naturally,” said the Judge. “Mr. Casavant, you have an apology coming. Been driving all night?”
“Most of it!”
“Then perhaps you’ll join us in a bite of breakfast. No, leave the car here. The boys,” and Judge Shinn glanced at the twins, “will take very good care of it, you may be sure. It’s all right, Burney...”
It turned out that Roger Casavant had telephoned the night before to ask Fanny Adams if he might not drive up to see her.
“I suppose you might call me,” the art critic said, a little mollified by Millie Pangman’s ham and eggs, “the world’s leading authority on the painter Fanny Adams. I recognized her genius long before the others and I flatter myself that I’ve had a little something to do with the burgeoning of her career. A great artist, gentlemen! One of the greatest of the modern primitives. As a matter of fact, I’m her biographer. I conceived the idea over a year ago of doing her life and a definitive critique of her place in modern art, and she’s been gracious enough to give her consent and cooperation. She made only one condition about my book, that she have final say as to its factual content. I phoned last night to tell her that the first draft of the manuscript was finished. I meant to ask her permission to bring it up so that we could discuss any changes she wanted. Instead,” and Casavant glared at Ferriss Adams, “some furtive-sounding pinhead refused to call her to the phone and gave me such a slimy line of jabberwocky that I became seriously concerned. After all, I said to myself, she’s a very old lady and she does live alone. I was so alarmed I decided to drive right up... only to find my worst fears realized!”